If You Give a Sam a Cookie
by mdime
Summary: I really don't know what to say, sorry...look to the title for information, it's all you need.


Title: If You Give a Sam a Cookie  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: general/humor  
  
Spoilers: nope!  
  
Summary: I really don't know what to say, sorry.  
  
Archive: Please let me know.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.  
  
Author's Note: I've been told by a certain roommate of mine (*glare in her direction*) that I need to stop with the angst and let the poor staffers live/keep their sanity once in a while...she's no fun. I have no idea where this came from, since I don't usually "bring the funny," but here it is...pure mindless (and basically plotless) entertainment that completely derailed all the quality angst I've been working on in other stories.  
  
  
  
"Senior staff in five minutes, Josh."  
  
I looked up from the report I had been reading, grateful for the interruption if not for the reason. "Yeah, okay."  
  
I yawned and stood, stretching my arms out in front of me before grabbing a file from my desk and heading out the door. It had been a light day so far, even for a Saturday, and I was in a fairly good mood. It had snowed the night before, and it took a lot for me to resist the impulse this morning to deck Sam with a snowball when I saw him in the parking lot. Truthfully, I haven't felt this good in a while, and I can't figure out what makes today special. Donna began chattering on about the inane topic for the day as we walked, and, as usual, I fail spectacularly in my attempts to ignore her.  
  
Luckily for me, we're at Leo's office now and I can escape before I hear any more random facts which I'm not so sure I needed to know in the first place. After several minutes wrapping up old issues, Sam shows up in the doorway, a large tin in hand.  
  
Leo looks up, only mildly irritated. "Glad you could join us, Sam."  
  
"Yeah. I..."  
  
Leo stops him with a wave of his hand, and asks me for the new welfare stats. Half an hour later, we're pretty much done, until CJ says she has a question for Sam.  
  
"Yeah, CJ?"  
  
"What's in the tin?"  
  
"Cookies."  
  
"Really? I wasn't aware that you could bake, Samuel."  
  
I snort. "He can't. One time, he was - "  
  
He interrupts quickly. "Would you guys like some?"  
  
Nice diversionary tactic. If my stomach wasn't rumbling, I might have called him on it, but I wouldn't want cookies withheld just to embarrass my best friend. I could always do it afterwards, anyway.  
  
The tin gets passed around quickly. One bite, and I am no longer half-listening to the appreciative comments, good mood momentarily forgotten. My eyes narrow and I glare menacingly at Sam. "She sent you cookies?"  
  
Sam turns from Toby, the hint of a smile on his lips.  
  
"She sent *you* cookies?" I repeat, disbelieving.  
  
"What," he says mischievously, "you didn't get any?"  
  
"Am I missing something?" CJ asks.  
  
"They're only cookies," Toby grumbles.  
  
"*Good* cookies," adds CJ.  
  
"Of *course* they're good cookies, they were baked by *my mother*!" I exclaim as I stand. "Samuel Norman Seaborn, you better have an explanation for this!"  
  
"Whoa, easy there Josh. It's not my fault," Sam states nervously as he quickly gathers his things and inches towards the doorway.  
  
I glare, he glares back, and then I'm around the table as he dashes down the hall. Luckily for me, he's as uncoordinated as ever, and I manage to catch up to him as he apologizes for running into Ginger.  
  
"Ha!" I proclaim, as I grab the tin from his hands and head quickly in the other direction.  
  
"Thief!" I hear behind me, and I turn to see Sam engaged in pursuit, a very confused Press Secretary and Communications Director standing among an assortment of even more confused staffers.  
  
Almost there. Donna stands as she sees me approaching at a near run, face questioning. "Don't let Sam in!" I yell as I make it into the office and slam the door, forgetting, unfortunately, that the door is sadly devoid of a lock.  
  
A second later he's in with Donna at his heels. He glares at me from the other side of my desk, hands on his hips.  
  
"Josh, they're mine, give them back."  
  
I shake my head.  
  
"Josh..."  
  
"No."  
  
Donna, obviously surmising at least part of the problem, looks at the tin in my hands, then at Sam. "Joshua, I thought I told you to play nice with the other children..."  
  
"Very funny, Donna. I'm not four years old."  
  
Sam speaks up, "Could have fooled me."  
  
I glare, then say, "You don't deserve them anyway. Why did *you* get cookies?"  
  
He smiles, smugly, then proclaims, "I'm the good child."  
  
I stick my tongue out at him, and Donna throws her hands up in the air, acknowledging defeat and a complete lack of control. "And to think they let you run a country."  
  
"I'm much better than you are," I argue.  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. I am."  
  
"Well, you've obviously been grounded for some reason. What did you do, stay out past curfew the night of the vote? Or maybe you didn't eat all of your vegetables at dinner...you should have learned from the President and his green beans."  
  
"I eat my vegetables..." I mutter.  
  
"French fries don't count, Josh," Donna says.  
  
"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side!"  
  
"I'm just saying..."  
  
There is a knock at the door, and we turn to see Toby, an emotion somewhere between moderate amusement and extreme annoyance on his face. "Do you think I could have my Deputy back?"  
  
Sam grins briefly before making his face exaggeratedly sad. "Just five more minutes, Dad?" he pleads.  
  
Forgetting my feud with Sam, I laugh. He turns towards me at the sound, merriment in his eyes.  
  
"Pretty please?" I add hopefully.  
  
Toby sighs and asks Donna, "They help run the country?"  
  
"That's what I'm told."  
  
"I guess we screwed up there, huh? Come along Sam, we have some real work to do."  
  
Sam's shoulder's slump and he starts to leave, but I call to him and hold out the cookie tin. I pull it away as he reaches for it, then relent and hand it over. He clutched it closely to him as he left, following Toby into the bullpen.  
  
*****  
  
I'm almost done with two guys from the Department of Agriculture when I hear Toby and Sam in the hallway. I turn my chair slightly so that I can see out the open doorway, scribbling down some random notes. I see them pass by and expect them to disappear from sight, which Toby does but Sam does not. He glances furtively to his left and right before coming closer to my office. He must be on the lookout for Donna. A few feet from the door he stops, removing something from his pocket. It's a paper football. He flicks it towards me and I catch it - somehow, miraculously, no one seems to have noticed.  
  
At least not on my end...  
  
Donna suddenly appears behind Sam, and I am unable to warn him of his impending doom. He cringes as he hears her voice behind him, turning hesitantly to face her. She's got her hands on her hips. This can't be good...she must have seen it all.  
  
I turn back to my meeting, football clutched securely in my hand. Five minutes later we're done, and I'm able to see what Sam risked life and limb to send me. It's all rather silly, really, since he could have just knocked, apologized for interrupting, and handed me a paper. This, however, is much more fun. Unfortunately for Sam, the teacher caught him passing notes in class.  
  
// Josh,  
  
Toby has been glaring at me all day. I need to escape. Want to meet for lunch?  
  
Sam //  
  
He risked the wrath of Donna for that? He could have...well, he could have *called*, for one thing. I look up to see Donna heading my way and I quickly shove Sam's note under some other papers like a guilty child...which, I suppose, is only appropriate.  
  
"Joshua Lyman, do you think that you could control your childish instincts for a few hours so that some of us can get our *work* done?"  
  
I frown. "But that's no fun."  
  
She glares.  
  
"Well...ummm...Sam was just..."  
  
"I don't care what Sam was doing. I've told him to stay away from you and let you work."  
  
"But *Donna*," I whine.  
  
"And don't think for a minute that I don't know who's *really* the bad influence. The amount of trouble you get poor Sam into..."  
  
I stare in disbelief. "Poor Sam?" I finally manage to sputter.  
  
The phone rings and I dive for it, hoping it's my currently exiled best friend, but Donna beats me to it and holds the receiver just out of my reach.  
  
"Josh Lyman," she answers.  
  
I watch intently as the expressions flash across her face - definitely Sam on the line. I maneuver around my desk slowly, hoping to catch Donna off-guard. No such luck.  
  
She holds me back at arm's length as she speaks. "No...Sam, I'm serious...because you're acting like children for no discernable reason!...Sam, do I have to tell Bonnie and Ginger to keep an eye on you?...good...goodbye, Sam."  
  
She hangs up and glares while I stamp my feet impatiently. "I wanted to talk to Sam!"  
  
She mutters something about a petulant child - which I would object to, except that I can see her point and she hands me some things to sign.  
  
"Did you finish reviewing the report so I can give it to Leo?"  
  
"Yeah...no...I'll bring it over in a minute, I just wanted to check on something."  
  
She eyes me suspiciously, but leaves. Ha! Joshua Lyman, Brilliant Political Strategist, has a plan. I grab a sheet of paper, compose a response (Sam - meet me in the mess in five minutes. Be sure you're not followed. Josh p.s. destroy this evidence, and hide the cookies in a secure location), and fold it carefully. I find the report and leave my office, Donna watchful but not choosing to accompany me.  
  
I hand the report to Margaret, who is wearing her I-know-you're-up-to- something look but is strangely silent. I feel like I'm being watched for misbehavior so that they can report back to Donna. We haven't even done anything...okay, so we chased each other down the halls, argued over cookies, and took to acting completely unlike our normal, brilliant selves, but come on! We need a little fun once in a while, and this was definitely fun. Just because no one else was appreciating our good mood...  
  
I head through Communications on the way back, slowing as I approach Sam's office. Toby and Ginger are in Toby's office, and Bonnie is typing something on her computer. Perfect. I pull the paper airplane from my jacket, straighten the wings, and let it fly. Bonnie looks up a second too late, and it floats safely past her outstretched hands, landing on Sam's desk. He looks up with a grin as he grabs it, and I flash him a thumbs up before I hurry back to my office.  
  
Donna is waiting for me upon my return. "A paper airplane, Josh?"  
  
I grin, hoping she won't kill me...or send me to my room with no lunch. That would be bad. "What, it's effective."  
  
She sighs, but doesn't respond.  
  
"I'm, uh...I'm going to go to lunch now. See you later."  
  
I leave before she can argue.  
  
*****  
  
When I arrive in the mess Sam is already there. I quickly grab some food and then slide into line in front of him.  
  
"Hey, no cutting!"  
  
I turn towards him and grin. He doesn't bother to repeat himself.  
  
We sit down in a far corner, hoping that none of the assistants spot us since they are surely reporting back to Donna. "How long do you think we have before they realize we both went to lunch?"  
  
Sam shrugs. "Maybe five more minutes? I liked your airplane, that was nice. Mine always end up working like boomerangs, so they don't do me much good."  
  
"I can teach you some secrets. It's a risky undertaking, though...Bonnie almost caught it. Maybe we should get some walkie talkies."  
  
"Yeah...just make sure you hide it so it isn't confiscated. You know, I wanted to toss a snowball at you when I saw you in the parking lot this morning."  
  
"Me, too." I laugh. "Great minds think alike."  
  
"That's only if we have our minds...which, currently, is doubtful. I can't believe you stole my cookies! If you could have just talked about it like a rational human being...but no. You have to chase me out of senior staff."  
  
"You have to admit, it's better than setting the White House on fire."  
  
He grins. "You tried to pin that one on me, too."  
  
"You are a bad, bad boy Sam Seaborn. A rebel. What is a sweet, innocent child like myself supposed to do when under your evil influence?"  
  
"Innocent?" he snorts. "Since when are you innocent? Don't forget, I've talked to your mother."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Okay...so...maybe you were good. But that's beside the point." He pauses. "Uh, Josh, what was the point?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"Caught you!"  
  
Sam and I look up in shock. Donna. So much for lunch...  
  
"You two are incorrigible."  
  
"But Donna," Sam pleads, "We were just -"  
  
"Whatever. Josh, Senator Atkins is on the phone...you were supposed to meet with him next week, but he wants to talk to you now."  
  
I sigh. "Okay. Bye Sam."  
  
*****  
  
Two hours later, Donna comes in with a smile on her face. "I've talked to Bonnie and Ginger, and we've decided to put the two of you on probation."  
  
"Really?" I exclaim. "That's great!"  
  
"There are, however, two conditions."  
  
Darn. "I'm listening..."  
  
"One. Your current state of...whatever...is not to result in practical jokes of any kind. This means on the assistants, on CJ and Toby, whomever."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
"Two. We want cookies."  
  
"That's blackmail!"  
  
She smiles. "Yes...yes, it is."  
  
I sigh. She's got me. "Agreed."  
  
"Good. You are allowed to call Sam and let him know. Tell him I'll be over in a little while to collect."  
  
I watch as she leaves my office, entirely too proud of herself for brokering a deal which places her on the winning side.  
  
*****  
  
Later in the day I head over to Sam's office, finding him staring blankly at his computer screen. "Need a break?" I ask.  
  
He looks up, a half-grin on his face. "They think we're crazy, you know."  
  
"Uh, hate to break it to you Sam, but I think they did before, anyway."  
  
He laughs, and I almost wish we could be like this more often. I wonder what it would have been like to know Sam as a child, the trouble we could have gotten ourselves into.  
  
"Well, we certainly did nothing to dispel the notion, did we?"  
  
"I still can't believe she sent you cookies and I didn't get anything."  
  
"Maybe it's punishment."  
  
"But I didn't *do* anything!"  
  
"Then maybe I really am the favorite."  
  
"Very funny," I laugh. "You could never be the favorite."  
  
CJ pokes her head in and asks if it's safe to enter as she eyes us warily. Sam waves her in.  
  
"Donna tells me that we've been reduced to a daycare center, and that you boys need a good talking to. Toby says that he's glad you don't look like you're going to kill each other anymore, if only so that he can do it himself later. Leo, oddly enough, is mildly amused...but I shouldn't have told you that, it will only encourage you."  
  
I grin. "We're behaving, really."  
  
"Scout's honor," Sam adds.  
  
CJ sighs, exasperated. "I don't know what has gotten into the two of you today..."  
  
"Oh come on, CJ," I plead, "when's the last time we got to have a little fun?"  
  
"A little fun I can handle. Two senior staffers chasing each other down the hallways of the West Wing I would rather not." She pauses, and a playful tone enters her voice, "What happens when some one in the corps calls me on it?"  
  
I glance at Sam, who responds with mock-seriousness. "The Deputy Chief of Staff was attempting to steal my baked goods and I simply wished to elude him."  
  
"Hey," I interrupt, indignant. "I succeeded! And they should have been mine, anyway."  
  
"Well they weren't."  
  
"Don't forget who was nice enough to give them back to you."  
  
"If you hadn't *stolen* them in the first place..."  
  
CJ shakes her head in disbelief. "They told me that you two were acting like this, but I was hoping that there was some of the usual exaggeration involved. Do we need the President to reprimand you?"  
  
"We didn't do anything wrong, CJ."  
  
"Yeah...there aren't even any 'no running in the hall' signs posted."  
  
She glares at me and I duck my head, unable to keep the grin from my face.  
  
"I really don't know what to do with you guys..."  
  
"Do nothing."  
  
"Yeah," Sam concurs, "if you're really nice, we'll teach you the secret handshake to get into the clubhouse."  
  
"And share our secret stash of cookies!"  
  
"Tempting, but..."  
  
She is interrupted by a knock on the door. It's Charlie.  
  
"Charlie, my man!" Sam greets him, "Want to join the club?"  
  
"What's that, the 'I'm about to get my butt kicked by the President' club?"  
  
"You sure know how to kill the fun, don't you?" I ask.  
  
"I do my best. He wants you guys in the Oval...you too, CJ."  
  
CJ gets up immediately and follows Charlie out. I stare at Sam for a second, then say, "You better bring the cookies. A little bribery never hurt anyone."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
*****  
  
"I hear you boys have been exasperating your co-workers today. Care to explain?"  
  
I glance at Sam, but he doesn't seem to have a response. The next logical step is to place the blame where it belongs, and hope that my innocent face and naturally believable explanation convince them. "Well, sir," I start, "it's really all his fault."  
  
"My fault?" Sam turns to me, expression torn between disbelief at my audacity and the unavoidable amusement that is a by-product of our good mood.  
  
"Yes, your fault."  
  
"Just because *your* mother decided to send *me* cookies..."  
  
"Which you didn't deserve."  
  
"Well apparently you didn't either."  
  
"I'm still the favorite."  
  
"All evidence to the contrary."  
  
"Boys!" We both turn to face the President, expecting a reprimand. He tries to look stern, but I can see a twinkle in his eye. "I should make you two stand in the corner."  
  
"Due respect, sir, you really can't," I say with a grin, hoping Sam will catch on. He does.  
  
"He's right...there are no corners in which to stand."  
  
He stares at us for a minute before he grins. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your sorry asses out right now."  
  
"Well, we do have freshly baked cookies." Sam opens the tin and offers it to the President. He takes one and sets the tin down on his desk.  
  
"Well, all right then, I suppose you can stay. For now."  
  
Toby coughs. "Excuse me, sir. As...wonderful...as it is to see Josh and Sam behaving like kindergartners - "  
  
"I thought we were pre-schoolers?" Sam asks.  
  
"No," I correct, "I think Donna said that. Toby gives us more credit."  
  
"Would the two of you stop for just one minute!"  
  
"One minute." I say, not daring to look at Toby.  
  
"I'm counting," Sam adds boldly.  
  
"Sir," Toby continues, the glare which must be on his face evident in his voice, "this insanity aside, what did you need us for?"  
  
The President finishes his cookie and glances briefly at each of us. "Nothing."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"What, you think I'd let the two of them have all the fun? It's nice to see my staff irrationally happy from time to time. And the look on your face when they start to bicker is priceless."  
  
I look from the President to Toby. There is brief silence in the room as Toby struggles to form a coherent response.  
  
It is CJ, however, who breaks the odd semi-tension with a snicker that soon turns into deep, true laughter. Sam and I join in, and then I hear the President - and even Leo - as well.  
  
We haven't been able to laugh like this in a long time, and I think it ends all too quickly. The President, however, would like to end his day soon, and Leo attempts to shepherd us from the room.  
  
"Go home everyone. You're done anyway."  
  
There is a chorus of "Thank you's" and "Goodnight Mr. President's," and then we are free.  
  
"So do you want to come over to my place, catch a game?"  
  
"Sure...let me tell Donna she's free to go and then we can head out."  
  
Amazingly, there are no major crises between his office and mine, no sudden problems which need our attention. Sam and I are out of the White House and almost to our cars when he suddenly stops in his tracks.  
  
"Oh, no."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We've been had."  
  
"How? By whom?"  
  
"He's got them."  
  
Nothing like ambiguity, Samuel. "Who's got what?"  
  
"The President. Our cookies. The President has our cookies."  
  
I sigh. "Well, at least we kept our jobs. And Toby hasn't killed us yet."  
  
"Yet."  
  
We start walking again, but something about what he just said bugs me and I don't know what...  
  
I stop. "Hey!"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Since when are they *our* cookies, Sam?"  
  
He looks down at his feet, and when he speaks, it is hesitantly. "Well...technically I suppose, since...always?"  
  
I stare, disbelieving. "What?"  
  
"Well, yeah. It was sent - addressed - to both of us, but I got it - Ginger gave it to me, I swear I didn't know...at first...but later I read the note that went with it, and..."  
  
"Samuel Norman Seaborn, you are a dead man!"  
  
He looks up in shock, no longer interested in the tops of his shoes. Unfortunately for him, there is no time for preparation and the snowball hits him squarely in the chest with a loud "thwap!"  
  
He stares down at his now snow-covered coat, which gives me time to make two more and pelt him before he thinks to hide behind a car.  
  
An all-out war ensues, with no clear winner in sight, as we maneuver behind cars, bushes, and poles. Voice ringing with laughter, he calls for a time out.  
  
"What, can't handle the pressure California boy?"  
  
"Oh, I can bring it. I just...can't feel my fingers anymore."  
  
I laugh and agree to a cease fire. We wander back from the far corner of the parking lot - which I'm not quite sure how we got to - and agree that I'll pick up some food on my way over to Sam's place.  
  
"I think...I think it's a good idea we don't do this more often."  
  
"Yeah. At least not if we want to have jobs, too."  
  
"We should call your mom, thank her for the cookies."  
  
"She'll be pleased to know that the President enjoyed them. Maybe, next time we get into trouble, I should have her send some more...it is a very effective method of bribery and/or blackmail."  
  
Sam laughs conspiratorially. "Of course, I don't think we should tell *her* that that's what they'll be used for."  
  
"Yeah. But if word gets out, I'll be sure to let her know whose idea it was in the first place."  
  
"Oh no, you're not pinning that one on me too."  
  
"Why not? It's always worked before."  
  
"Granted, yes, it has, but I wouldn't want your mom rethinking her favorites. I've worked hard to earn my place."  
  
"If I could move my fingers, you'd be full of snow right now, Seaborn."  
  
"So you say."  
  
"I do." There is a gust of wind and I shiver, burrowing my hands further in my pockets. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion later, when we've thawed?"  
  
"Yeah, okay. See you in a couple minutes."  
  
I get in my car and crank the heat up, blowing into my hands to help feeling return. So the day didn't start with a snowball fight, but it ended with one. Sam and I were able to amuse - and annoy - everyone else for most of the day, including a few minutes of rare, real laughter amongst our friends, our family. It was a good day after all. And it all started with Mom, my best friend, and some cookies. 


End file.
